


In The Quiet Space Between Us

by coffeejunkii



Series: In Heat [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha Clint Barton, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Barebacking, Clint Barton is an excellent caretaker, Cuddling & Snuggling, Getting Together, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Phil Coulson, Phil Coulson is a little out of his element
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 15:49:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1108669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeejunkii/pseuds/coffeejunkii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You're in heat,” Clint blurts out as he steps into Phil's office late on a Friday afternoon, the realization so stark and undeniable that the words are out of his mouth before he has finished thinking them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Quiet Space Between Us

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [Rurounihime](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RurouniHime/pseuds/RurouniHime) for betaing and brainstorming!
> 
> As always with A/B/O fic, proceed with caution regarding consent issues. I don't think that is a problem here, but let me know if I should adjust the tags.

“You're in heat,” Clint blurts out as he steps into Phil's office late on a Friday afternoon, the realization so stark and undeniable that the words are out of his mouth before he has finished thinking them.

Phil looks up from his laptop, frowning. “You know that's impossible.”

“I do.” Clint closes the door behind him. Of course he knows it's not possible—Phil's never bothered to hide the fact that he can't go into heat. Clint isn't sure why he can't, exactly. During a mission years ago Phil shared that his parents had finally dragged him to a specialist when he hadn't gone through his first heat by the time he'd turned eighteen. Clint knows that there had been tests and more tests that led to Phil being told he'd most likely never experience a heat.

“But?” Phil prompts, eyes wandering back to his screen.

Clint considers the chair in front of Phil's desk. He comes around to Phil's side instead, leaning against the edge of the desk. “But it's still true.”

Phil holds himself very still. “How would you even know? Beta senses aren't developed enough to pick up on an Omega in the early stages of heat.”

It's a provocation. Even though they've never discussed it, they both know that Clint's Beta identity is generated by SHIELD drugs and the generous policy that allows every agent to choose to project an identity different from the one assigned at birth. As Clint's handler, Phil has access to the declassified version of his medical file; besides, they've spent enough time together on longer-than-planned missions, some of which left Clint without access to the drugs that change his pheromones enough to project as a Beta.

“You know how I know,” Clint says quietly, picking at a splinter at the corner of Phil's desk. He can feel Phil's eyes on him.

“Yes, and I've always wondered why you wouldn't lay claim to being an Alpha.”

Clint shrugs. Sure, most people would never think to project differently if they were a naturally-born Alpha, but Clint has never bought into the bullshit privilege that gets heaped onto Alphas. “Don't want to deal with all the posturing and expectation that comes with it. I just want to shoot and be left alone.” Projecting as a Beta gives him exactly that: respect for a job well done and invisibility the rest of the time.

Phil nods. Before he can ask anything else about him—possibly an effort to deflect from Clint's proclamation—Clint says, “I'm sure, though. I'm aware that you don't think it's possible, but I know your scent. Especially after having just spent a whole week with you holed up in a safe house. You don't feel any different?”

There's no reaction from Phil at first, but then his shoulders drop and he slumps in his chair. “I—” He scrubs a hand over his face. “I feel like I'm jumping out my skin. I've been having trouble sleeping since we got back from Barcelona. Everything feels off somehow.”

Clint digs his fingers into the edge of the desk so he won't reach for Phil. 

“I wasn't sure what—why I felt this way,” he continues and shakes his head. “I've never...”

“Phil.” Clint waits until Phil meets his gaze. “You're going into heat.” He pitches his voice low, but lets some of the authority that comes naturally to him as an Alpha flow into his words. He rarely uses it, but he needs Phil to believe that this is true. 

Clint can tell the exact moment when Phil accepts the truth in his words. He straightens, pushing all outward signs of an internal crisis away. The calm expression Clint has seen in many a difficult situation settles on Phil's face. “What now?” 

“You should probably go to Medical—”

“No.”

Clint smiles. He'd refuse, too, if their roles were reversed. “Let me take you to your place?”

Phil's eyes dart off to the side, a pinch appearing between his brows. Clint has seen this look before, usually when Phil has to make impossible decisions. “Alright,” Phil says with reluctance. He stands up and efficiently packs up his files and laptop. Shrugging on his suit jacket, he says, “Let's go.”

**

Clint has been to Phil's apartment enough times to feel as comfortable there as in his own studio. As soon as they get through the door, he turns left into the small kitchen area, heading straight for the cabinet where Phil keeps mugs. He has a glass half-filled with water before he's fully aware of what he's doing. It's not simply the thought that Phil might be thirsty. No, it's an Alpha's instinct to take care of his mate. Clint wants to bang his head against the cabinets. Sure, he's had a thing for Phil for years, and he's pretty sure that it's mutual, but it's never been inflected by the pull between an Alpha and an Omega. 

Clint glances across the breakfast bar. Phil's sitting on the couch, elbows propped on his knees and head in his hands. Protectiveness surges through Clint. Unless Phil asks him to leave, they'll finally have that conversation they've been evading for years. He drops a few ice cubes into the water and makes his way into the living room.

“Here.” Clint holds out the water and sits on the coffee table across from Phil.

Phil takes a few sips. “Thanks.”

“So,” Clint starts.

“So.”

“Okay, the thing is...” Clint tucks his hands under his thighs so he won't reach for Phil. “There are a couple of options here. One, I leave. I can understand if you'd prefer to be alone, but I don't think that's a good idea considering you've never been through a heat before.”

Phil twists the glass between his hands. “I don't want you to leave.”

That's a relief. “Alright, in that case—Look, I can be there for you as a friend. It'll suck, but I can bring you water and snacks and just be here. Or...”

“Or?” Phil's eyes flick up.

“Or I can take you through the heat as an Alpha.” All his instincts scream that this is what he should be doing, that it's his place. He squashes them. It's not his decision to make.

Phil sets the glass down with slow movements. “Okay.”

Clint's heart is hammering in his chest. “Okay what?” 

“Take me through it.” Phil appears utterly calm, but Clint can sense the tension behind that facade.

Clint can only nod. Want shoots through him; it's becoming increasingly difficult not to touch Phil.

“I assume you've done this before?”

“Yeah.” Clint clears his throat. “A few times. Once, with a partner, before SHIELD. And then on a few missions when another agent went into heat unexpectedly.”

Phil nods, understanding on his face. It happens; not all the time, but often enough that there are procedures in place. The names of the participating agents are kept strictly confidential.

“But that doesn't mean I know exactly what's going to happen. Each heat is different.” He doesn't need to add that this is particularly true in Phil's case.

Phil's hand wanders to his neck, rubbing where it meets with his shoulder. “I understand.”

Clint isn't sure if he should elaborate more. Even if each heat is different, there are certain instinctual patterns that are pretty standard, and Phil would know about them, much like everyone knows about them from every possible cliché in books and movies, and because it's Phil's job as a handler to know. But there's theoretical knowledge and then there's experiencing the full force of heat hormones slamming into you.

Clint watches Phil twisting his head back and forth as if he's trying to work a crick out of his neck. “Did you pull a muscle?”

“I don't know. My skin feels really tight here.” He rolls his shoulders.

And yes, that right there is the difference between knowledge and experience. “Tight and maybe also a little hot?”

“Yeah. How'd you—”

Clint raises his hands. “Can I?” 

Phil nods.

Clint loosens Phil's tie and slips the top two buttons out of their holes. Phil's chest presses up against his hands with the rapid in-and-out of his breath. Slowly, Clint pushes his fingers under Phil's collar and feels along the skin there until he finds the slight raise he was looking for. He strokes across it with his fingertips.

Phil shivers, and his eyes close. “What...”

“That's your bonding gland,” Clint says softly. “It starts swelling when your heat sets in.” Phil's probably never been aware of it before.

“Oh.”

Clint brings his other hand up to the side of Phil's face, pleased when Phil turns into the touch. “There are things—things we'll both want during the heat, and in my experience, it's best to go with what your instincts tell you.”

“What kinds of things?”

Clint's not used to talking to Phil this way. They've shared frank conversations before, about Clint's past, about difficult missions, about things they fear and others they dream about. But this is far more intimate than anything else they've discussed. “I guess the main thing is that you'll want to—well, you'll want to submit to me and I'll want to claim you.”

Phil sucks in a breath. “Right.”

“'Right'?” Clint echoes. It's far too little of a response.

Phil shuffles forward until he can drop his head to Clint's shoulder. It feels like a concession—to the instinctual pull between them, and perhaps to the prospects ahead. Clint gathers him close.

Phil's voice is muffled when he speaks again. “I can already tell that that's something I'll want. Scares the shit out of me.” He huffs out a laugh.

Clint can absolutely understand. They both cherish their independence and control. Feeling a sudden pull to submit to someone would be disconcerting to him as well. Although the idea of submitting to Phil isn't quite that terrifying, and Clint hopes it makes a difference to Phil that he is with him instead of a person he trusts less. 

“I get that,” Clint says. “A heat is...It's different from any other time. And it can be good. It can be really good.”

“So I've heard.”

“Phil...” 

“Yeah.”

“If you can let me be our guide, I promise to make this heat the best it can be for both of us. I mean, you've guided me through so many fucked-up missions and made sure that I came back, so if you can—if you can trust me with this, I'll make sure we'll get through this okay.” Clint pushes the words out hard and fast, aware that they'll get stuck in his throat if he stops even to take a breath.

Phil kisses him in response, open-mouthed and with desperation. It's unexpected, leaving Clint dumbfounded for a moment until he feels the heat surge between them, hears Phil whimper at that spike, and he responds with the same eagerness. He slows them down eventually, taking them down from that high. Phil follows his lead. When Clint mouths along his jaw, Phil tilts his head. Bares his throat to Clint. It's a halting movement, but it's there.

“Thank you,” Clint mumbles into Phil's skin. He nuzzles at the spot where Phil's neck and shoulder meet—Phil smells so good already—and then licks across the bump there.

“Oh, fuck, do that again.” 

Clint does, and tries very hard not to think about how much better this will get when Phil's heat has settled in completely.

“Is it going to be like this when we...?” Phil asks once Clint has pulled back.

Clint takes in the flush on Phil's face. “Yeah. Except more intense.”

Phil falls back against the couch cushions. “Fuck, I'm beginning to understand why people are so obsessed with heat sex.”

Clint smiles. It's good to see Phil less worried about what's coming. “It's kind of phenomenal.”

Phil reaches for his hand and sighs. “And this, is that also part of the package?”

“What 'this'?” 

Phil laces their fingers together. “That I feel calm when you touch me.”

That's not something Clint's previous partners have told him. He's heard about this before—from bonded pairs, which obviously doesn't apply to them. But it might suggest compatibility, and that's a thought Clint can't handle right now.

“Clint?”

“It's—it happens.” Phil can probably tell that he's being evasive, but he doesn't push Clint on it. “We should order food. And before you say that you aren't hungry, you need to eat. We both do. During the first twelve hours of the heat, food's the last thing either of us will think about, so it's good to have a foundation.”

“When do you think the heat is really going to kick in?”

“Not sure, but I hope we get some sleep tonight.”

“God, I hope so,” Phil says. “I already feel pretty tired.”

“You should take a nap.” Clint uses their clasped hands to coax Phil to lie down. The fact that Phil doesn't protest speaks to his level of exhaustion, but also to allowing Clint to take the lead. Or at least Clint hopes so. “I want to look for some more comfortable clothes for you if that's okay.”

Phil's eyes are closing already. “Pick whatever you like. Don't let me sleep for too long.”

Clint picks up the fleece blanket that's folded over one arm of the couch and spreads it over Phil. “Long enough. Then we'll order food.”

Phil mumbles his assent. Clint waits until he has fallen asleep before heading to the bedroom.

Surveying Phil's closet, Clint ends up choosing flannel pajama pants and a T-shirt from some strawberry festival because both feel soft and look well-worn. His eyes are drawn to a black plastic box sitting on the floor. It's the only thing in the closet that isn't open to immediate view, and Clint wonders. He crouches down and rests his hand on the lid. On missions, he never hesitates to go through Phil's stuff if he thinks there might be something of use to them, and Phil does the same thing. But this is Phil's home, and Clint has some sense of personal boundaries, even with his instincts pushing at the back of his brain, telling him he should be allowed to look.

He tells his proprietary impulses to fuck off, but does crack open the lid in the hope the box might yield something that will benefit Phil during the heat. It does. There's an assortment of toys along with lube and condoms. The condoms remind Clint that he needs to ask Phil about his contraceptive implant. Which Phil better have—it's SHIELD reg for all Omegas, after all—because if he doesn't due to his unusual circumstances, they have a problem on their hands. He picks up the lube; not that they'll need it, but if he puts it in the fridge, it might bring some relief to Phil when the hormonal haze no longer covers the soreness he'll feel toward the end. He also selects two different-sized plugs, which might come in handy in the most intense phase.

Dropping the clothes and lube on the bed, Clint walks into the adjacent bathroom to wash the plugs. He takes his time. When he's done, he wraps them in a small clean towel and slides them into the drawer of the nightstand.

As he stands in front of the bed, he realizes that checking on how many sets of sheets Phil owns might be a good idea. There's a set folded in the back of the closet, and Clint spies some balled-up linens in the hamper. Since laundry is the last thing he wants to do once the heat is in full swing, he decides to start a load now. The washer is tucked into a small closet in the hallway and comes with an impressive array of confusing buttons. Figuring that sheets are on the indestructible end where laundry is concerned, he chooses Power Wash and hopes for the best.

On the way back to Phil, Clint swings by the kitchen to place the lube in the fridge. There are a number of take-out menus taped to the front—Chinese, Thai, Indian. Clint knows Phil's taste in food pretty well, but is unsure what he's in the mood for. 

Since it's only been about twenty minutes, Clint decides to let Phil sleep. He stretches out in the comfortable chair next to the couch and sets his phone alarm. 

**

They end up ordering an enormous amount of Thai and eat about half of it. Phil puts on a mindless movie after dinner, and Clint finds himself relaxing into the routine of hanging out at Phil's place. 

The only difference is that about ten minutes into the film, Phil leans against his side. “Is that okay?”

“Sure.” It's more than okay. Clint lifts his arm so Phil can tuck himself under it. Phil feels warm and familiar against him, as if this is something they've done many times before. It makes it easier to bring up what's been swirling around in Clint's mind. “So, um, I wanted to ask if...you have a contraceptive implant?”

“Yes.”

It's a very hesitant 'yes,' and Clint waits for Phil to elaborate.

Phil sighs. “I might have missed my last check-in. I was busy.”

“Shocking.”

“Pot, kettle, Barton.” 

“Right, fine, but—you do know that you going into heat means that your body is getting ready to make babies, right?” 

“Yes, thanks, I did pay attention in high school biology,” Phil retorts with a cringe. “Besides, all things considered, my...equipment is most likely not functional, anyway.” 

“You don't know that,” Clint says softly. “You're going into heat when you didn't think that was possible.”

“I have condoms.”

Clint shakes his head, smiling, because Phil has to know that that's a ridiculous notion. “Okay, I know that you know that's not an option if you really want me to help you. Since you took Bio 101 and all that.”

Phil turns to look up at him. “I do know that the exchange of bodily fluids—”

“Ugh, Phil, way to take all the fun out of it.” 

“Oh, sorry, your magical come, then.” Phil pulls out of Clint's embrace and crosses his arms over his chest.

Clint can't tell if Phil is annoyed with him or if he's unsettled, or a combination of both. Probably both. He places a hand over Phil's and watches the tension drain out of him.

“God, that's such a mindfuck,” Phil mutters. Clint withdraws his hand, but Phil reaches for him. “No, don't, I—” He pauses. “I appreciate your concern. I'm certain that my implant is still good. If it's not, I can tell because my hormones go haywire.” With a grim smile, he adds, “Different kind of haywire from now.”

Under his calm exterior, Phil looks lost, and Clint can't blame him. It must be fucking confusing to be suddenly faced with something you were told all your life was outside of your experience, and that's not even considering the onslaught of heat hormones. Clint stretches his arm out along the couch, and Phil curls back against him. “Alright. You should go to Medical after this is over, though. Just to get everything checked out. I'll come with you if you want.”

Phil lets out a resigned sigh. “Yeah. I'd like that.”

**

They decide to turn in early. Clint can feel Phil's eyes on him as he strips down to his boxers. They've seen each other naked before, of course. There's not much modesty when they're out in the field. But this is different. Clint is surprised when Phil tugs his T-shirt off over his head; he expected him to sleep in what he's wearing.

Balling the cotton between his fingers, Phil asks, “Do you think we could forgo clothes altogether? I think it would help me to...get settled.” 

Clint wonders if Phil's responding to this instincts. “'Course, yeah.” He adds his boxers to the pile of clothes on the floor and slips into bed.

Phil follows suit. He turns onto his side, and Clint wraps himself around him. “Is that good?” It feels more than good to Clint—it feels right. Like they're both where they belong. There's a distant want curling under his skin, waiting to be triggered by the heat.

“Yeah.” Phil draws Clint's arm more firmly around his waist. “Thanks.” 

Clint nuzzles his neck. “Is this still bothering you?”

“It's—it's been better since you licked it.” Phil sounds embarrassed.

“I'm glad.” Clint laves his tongue over it in slow strokes and feels Phil melt against him. “I'm not going to bite you, by the way. Obviously. Since we don't want to initiate a bond. I'll be drawn to it, and you'll want me to, but I won't, I promise.”

“Okay. I understand.”

Phil doesn't sound like he entirely understands the significance of Clint's declaration. It makes sense—he hasn't experienced that driving need to bond yet. Nevertheless, it's important to Clint that Phil has his promise. Maybe further down the line, if they decide to stay together, it's something they can talk about. Especially since they're apparently compatible. But not during Phil's first heat.

“Wake me if you need anything,” Clint says.

“I will.”

Phil's statement lacks conviction. At least Clint has the assurance that if the heat hits Phil during the night, he will wake him. He'll be too restless otherwise.

**

Clint wakes up to a room lit only by the light from Phil's phone. Phil's sitting up, the comforter tucked around him. He frowns down at the screen with intense concentration.

“Why're you up?” Clint mumbles. He leans his head against Phil's hip. He only becomes entirely aware of what he's done after he's already plastered himself against Phil's side. It's not unwelcome, though. Phil's hand settles on his shoulder, light at first, but then with more purpose.

“I woke up with the urge to scrub myself clean. I tried to go back to sleep, but I couldn't.” Phil lowers his phone. “I'm not handling this whole 'following my instincts' thing very well.”

Clint curls a hand around Phil's knee. “You're doing fine. What are you reading? Work stuff?”

“Not exactly. I did email Fury to explain about...what's happening. In case I can't go into work on Monday. Then I figured I could do some research on why I'm going into heat all of a sudden.”

It's clear to Clint that neither of them will be able to go into work on Monday. Even a normal heat lasts more than two days, and then there's a recovery period after. But he doesn't want to overwhelm Phil any more than he already is. “You find anything?”

Phil shrugs. “Some theories here and there. Nothing concrete.”

“Tell me.”

Phil drops his phone into his lap and rubs at his eyes. “A lot of it seems to be related to triggers. Something that's strong enough to overcome...my condition.”

“Like what?” Clint keeps his voice light.

“Like spending time in close proximity with an extremely compatible Alpha.” There's a hint of a waver in Phil's voice.

“Okay.” Clint marshals all his training to keep himself relaxed. Extreme compatibility is rare. Most people bond with far less motivation. Phil knows that, too. “It doesn't...doesn't have to mean anything. We can talk about this more after your heat.”

Phil nods.

“We should try to sleep a little more.” Mostly, Clint doesn't want Phil to worry. That's easier said than done, however. Not only is all of this new to Phil, but his life's work is to plan and strategize. To see a situation from all angles and form a plan. There's no real step-by-step plan for a heat, though. Just listening to your instincts. Listening to your partner. Letting things happen.

Phil pushes his phone onto the nightstand and lies down. He turns toward Clint, reaching.

“It'll be okay.” Clint strokes a hand down Phil's back.

“I just never thought I'd have this,” Phil whispers.

Clint never dared to hope for a compatible bond mate, either. Life isn't that kind to him. Except perhaps it is. “I know. Go with what feels right. And ask for whatever you need. Even if it feels strange or embarrassing. I won't judge.”

“Thanks. I'll try.”

**

It's light out the next time Clint wakes up, but the shadows around the room tell him it's still early. Phil is nosing along his jaw, nudging him. “'m awake. What d'you need?”

“Need you. Please.”

There's a thickness to Phil's scent that's new. It's calling to Clint, a signal that Phil's ready to be claimed. It pierces through the haze of too little sleep. Clint runs a hand down Phil's side and feels skin that's warmer than usual. Phil presses himself closer, his cock heavy against Clint's hip, and there's slick trickling down Clint's thigh where Phil rubs against his leg. Clint swallows down the urge to flip Phil onto his stomach.

“Ready?” he asks softly as his hand slides down to Phil's ass.

“Y-Yes.”

Phil has tucked his face under Clint's chin, and he's grasping at Clint's hip as if worried that he might leave. When Clint brushes over his hole, Phil jerks. “Please,” he whispers.

Clint dips a finger inside, not intending to do more than that, but Phil is soft and open to him, no resistance at all. A second finger slides in as easily as the first. Phil pushes back, fucking himself on Clint's fingers.

Phil lets out a frustrated noise. “'S not enough.” 

It won't be enough until they tie the first time. “You know what you have to do.”

Phil nods and moves quickly to kneel on the bed, but then he stops. Clint sits up behind him, leaving an inch of space between them. A sheen of sweat spreads across Phil's back and his breathing is faster than usual. His hands curl into fists against his thighs.

Clint wishes that Phil wouldn't struggle against this. His instincts are most likely screaming at him to surrender all control to Clint, to trust Clint to know how to take care of him. It must be terrifying to hand yourself over like that.

Leaning forward, Clint kisses the skin behind Phil's ear. Phil whimpers; his head dips forward. Clint places his hand against Phil's nape and then draws it down to the small of his back, careful not to put any pressure behind the touch. Some of the tension leaves Phil.

Slowly, Phil leans forward, onto his hands at first, then his elbows. Clint's instincts sing with want as he leans over Phil. “Thank you,” he whispers. “Do you want me to knot you?”

Phil nods. “Yes. God, Clint, please.”

Clint straightens. He drags three fingers through the slick that covers Phil's hole, spreading it. Phil moans and begs, and when Clint rubs the skin behind his balls, he feels another pulse of slick leak across his hand. He smoothes it over his cock, his own hand trembling now, and finally pushes into Phil. 

Phil's fingers grasp the sheets, but he barely makes a sound. He is so beautiful like this, opening himself to Clint. When Clint bottoms out, he curls a hand over Phil's shoulder right where it meets his neck, palm pressing gently against the bonding gland. Phil curses and pushes back, taking Clint a little deeper. With his other hand against Phil's hip, Clint draws back and pushes in again, slow, deep strokes. 

“Oh, fuck, don't stop, don't stop,” Phil mutters.

“I won't.” 

Every time Clint pushes inside, he palms the bonding gland. It's a steady rhythm; Phil's breath hitches the first few times, but then his mouth goes slack, and he goes completely pliant under Clint. “There. So good, Phil, you're doing so well.”

“C'mere,” Phil whispers. “Closer.”

Clint stretches out over Phil, bracketing him. His drops down to his elbows as well and presses sloppy kisses against Phil's cheek. He forgot what it's like to be with an Omega in heat, and not just any Omega, but someone he cares about a great deal. There's a fierce joy in him at the sight of Phil submitting to him, accepting him as his Alpha. It mixes with a protectiveness that Clint hasn't felt quite like this before. 

Phil's fingers nudge against Clint's, and when he links them, Phil holds on tight. “God.” Clint drops his head to Phil's shoulder, sweat-slick skin against his, Phil's scent sinking into him. Clint wants more. He isn't entirely sure how that would be possible. He drives into Phil, hard, until his knot starts to fill.

Phil sobs.

“Shh, you'll feel better soon, promise,” Clint soothes. He fucks into Phil a few more times, drawing startled moans every time the growing knot breaches him. Grasping Phil's thigh, Clint keeps them tightly together until his knot has finished swelling. Phil squirms, tries to move. Clint digs his fingers into the muscle. “Just a little longer.” He needs to make sure Phil won't hurt himself trying to push-pull over the knot.

When they're tied completely, Clint slides his arm around Phil's side, over his chest, and hauls them upright until they're kneeling. Phil is spread wide over his lap, thighs held apart by Clint's own. He can't stop moving, grinding down onto Clint's knot.

“Clint...” Phil fumbles for his hand and brings it to his cock. “Please.”

Clint rubs his palm over the head a few times, then settles into fast strokes. He wants Phil to finally have the relief he's obviously desperate for. Phil goes rigid and spills all over Clint's hand. The tight pressure on his cock carries Clint over as well, but it's almost an afterthought. 

Phil slumps back against him. His eyes are closed; he looks overwhelmed.

Clint brings both arms around him, holding him close. “You okay?”

“Yes. Is it always like this?”

“Kinda.” Clint isn't ready to admit yet that while heat sex is always intense, he's feeling the connection between them even more keenly because of how much he cares about Phil. 

Phil doesn't push for a more concrete answer. “How long do we stay like this?”

“Depends. Could be twenty minutes, could be an hour. Are you comfortable?”

“Hmm. 'm good.”

He grows heavier in Clint's arms. It's a good sign. But the ache that comes with the heat will return soon enough, and it'll build.

Clint allows his eyes to close as well. His hand drifts lower on Phil's stomach, rubbing there. Apparently, his instincts don't give a fuck about contraceptive implants and like to pretend that there's a spark of life forming there. Sadness flickers through him, and he stomps it out. Instincts or not, that's stupid. He doesn't stop the motions of his hand, though, telling himself that it might calm Phil.

**

Clint knots Phil every few hours over the course of the following day and night. Each time, the period between another wave of heat lust lengthens. Clint hopes they might get a full night of sleep if this pattern continues. For now, they're lying next to each other. Clint's leg is pushed between Phil's and he has an arm slung around him because apparently, he can't stop touching Phil. Case in point: he's running his fingers through the little cowlicks that have formed at Phil's nape.

Phil's eyes are closed, but he's awake. “Don't I smell? I feel like I have dried come and slick all over me.”

“You smell amazing. Taste, too.” Clint mouths over the nearest patch of skin—Phil's shoulder—and feels salt bursting on his tongue. “But if you want to take a shower—”

“Yes. No.” Phil growls with frustration. “I do want to, but I shouldn't. Because.” He's clearly struggling with getting the words out. “Because you've marked me. And I shouldn't want to—God. This is...I feel like I'm going out of my mind.”

Clint gathers him closer. “Hey. If you really want a shower, then go ahead. I know I told you to listen to your instincts, but that doesn't mean in all cases. And never only for my benefit.”

Phil nods, but doesn't move. 

“How about we change the sheets?” Clint figures it's a good middle ground.

“Alright.”

They work in silence to strip the bed and put on the fresh sheets that Clint gets from the dryer. He put extra fabric softening sheets in it, and Phil sighs with happiness when they slide under the sheets. “That was a good idea. Thanks.”

They doze until Phil shivers. Clint nudges him onto his side. His cock fills fast—thank you, hormones—and he pushes into Phil, who goes pliant against him right away.

When Clint tries to pull out, Phil snags the top of his thigh. “Want you as deep as you can.”

Clint hums his agreement. He hooks an arm around Phil, holding him tight, and rolls his hips. It's all he has room for.

Phil sighs. “Yeah. Like that.”

Clint continues with small lazy pushes into Phil until the knot builds, much earlier than expected. He comes as soon as he feels Phil's body closing around him, keeping him locked in. 

“Can you?” Phil bares his neck.

Clint licks over the bonding gland. He's been holding himself back from paying too much attention to it, which has been difficult because putting his mouth there draws the most amazing sighs and moans out of Phil. But Clint knows that it'll only push him toward trying to bond Phil. He won't deny Phil's request, however, and it feels so good to run his tongue over the swollen stretch of skin. He watches as Phil fists his cock, shuddering with each swipe of Clint's tongue. Even after Phil comes, he can't stop mouthing over the gland. Phil doesn't ask him to stop, either. 

**

Before they settle in for the night, Clint goes looking for food. He knows Phil won't want the leftover Thai, but there's toast and a yoghurt that hasn't expired yet. Clint finds a bag of frozen peaches as well, which he throws into the blender with a questionable banana and the yoghurt.

Phil makes a face when Clint sets the smoothie and toast down on the nightstand. “Just try a little.”

The toast remains untouched, but Phil drinks down half the smoothie. Clint finishes the rest.

“'m so tired,” Phil mumbles as he burrows back under the covers.

“Yeah, me too.” It seems likely that they'll be able to sleep for part of the night. Perhaps even more than a couple of hours with a little help. Clint reaches into the nightstand to retrieve the plugs. 

Phil watches him. “You found the box.”

“Hope you don't mind.” When Phil shakes his head, Clint adds, “I think this might help you get some rest. It's not like being knotted, obviously, but...”

Phil picks up the larger plug and holds it out. “Will you?” He turns onto his back and tugs the comforter out of the way.

“Of course.” 

He stretches out next to Phil, whose legs fall open when Clint reaches between them. Considering how loose Phil is by now, it would be fine to push the plug into him without further prep, but Clint teases it over Phil's hole a few times until the tip is coated in slick. Phil squirms and presses down, a hint of a blush across his cheeks that deepens when Clint pushes the plug all the way in. It goes easily, even the broad base. 

“Good?” Clint asks. 

Phil nods, reaching for him. Clint noses along his cheek, curious about that blush. Before he can ask, Phil says, “I was thinking about—about how good it feels when you knot me. Especially at first, when your knot's still building, and you're still fucking me, and each time you push in, you open me a little more.”

Clint swallows. Need buzzes through him, and he's tempted to take the plug out and replace it with his cock. He feels himself harden, and Phil notices, too, because his hand closes over Clint with a twist. Clint stills the movement with a gentle touch. “Thanks, but that's not a good idea. If I build a knot when I'm not in you, it can be painful.” 

Phil's hand falls away. “Sorry. I—I didn't know.”

“Hey.” Clint waits until Phil meets his eyes. “That's okay. I didn't know either until I let it happen once. It's not like a general thing for all Alphas.”

“I understand.”

Phil still sounds dejected. Clint kisses his cheek, then his mouth. Phil tugs him closer, tips them over into a proper kiss. They've been kissing far too little during this heat, Clint decides. He runs his hand over Phil's side, a steady up and down. Phil sighs into the kiss and his muscles go lax.

Brushing his lips over Phil's one last time, Clint says, “Sleep now.”

**

“Clint.”

Phil's voice isn't more than a hoarse whisper. Clint struggles with becoming alert, but registers that the hand against his chest feels much too warm. He blinks open his eyes. The bedside lamp is on, and Phil's looking at him, his pupils blown wide. 

“You have to take it out. Please. I can't...I—” Phil shudders, his body a long line of heat against Clint's side.

An ache goes through Clint, right down to his cock, which feels full and tight already, as if he's been hard for a while. A quick glance at the alarm clock tells Clint that he's only been asleep for a little over two hours. He clearly underestimated the intensity of Phil's heat.

“Okay, hold on.” Clint scrubs a hand over his face, trying to clear away the cobwebs. When Phil presses against him, Clint realizes that the haze isn't residual sleepiness, but the heat trying to drag him under. Pushing to lose himself, to claim, to bond. Shit.

Phil's fingers dig into his chest. “Clint, please...”

“I know, I got you.” Clint stills him with fleeting touches before pushing his knee up and out of the way. “Relax for me.” He tugs, and Phil's body gives way around the toy. Phil's groan is muffled against Clint's shoulder. Clint drops the plug over the side of the bed.

Phil crawls on top of Clint. “Knot me.”

He bears down on Clint, a slick drag across his cock. It feels amazing. “Fuck, yes, c'mon, let me—” Clint's fingers slide under Phil's thighs to lift him up.

Phil reaches for Clint's cock. It nudges Phil's hole but slips away. Clint helps to steady Phil's hand. It still takes them two tries to get it into Phil, who sobs with relief and pushes down until Clint is completely inside of him. They both keep still for a moment, reveling in the connection.

Phil plants his hands just above Clint's shoulders, and starts to move. Only a little at first, but he pulls off more and more until he's found a hard rhythm. Clint watches him: the half-lidded eyes, the flush that spreads all the way down his front. Clint chases it with his hand. He moves with Phil, pressing into him in counterpoint. Phil's cock leaves sticky stripes across Clint's stomach, but he bats Clint's hand away with a muttered “Not yet.”

Phil whimpers when Clint's knot swells. He swears as he loses his rhythm.

Clint's hands close over Phil's hips. “Let me.” Digging his heels into the mattress, he strokes into Phil, hard and fast.

“Just like that,” Phil encourages as he drops forward, his head on Clint's shoulder.

Clint tries to drag it out, but his knot fills quickly. Even after they're tied together, Phil keeps shifting, seemingly unable to help himself. He nuzzles Clint's neck, nudging him. At first Clint is unsure what Phil wants, but when he feels a hand on his nape, pushing him against the crook of Phil's neck, he understands. 

“Don't,” Clint whispers, his lips brushing over the bonding gland.

“Please.”

Clint mouths over it, sucks at the skin. Phil shivers and tightens around Clint's knot. He doesn't come, however, and Clint knows that Phil's holding off, waiting. And Clint wants to give this to him, wants to bite down and release those hormones, bind them together. Make Phil his without a doubt.

“Please.” Phil sounds so desperate. His hand squeezes Clint's nape.

Clint knows that he should pull back, get his mouth off the gland, but he can't. It's playing with fire. The haze of the heat thrums through him just as much as through Phil, and he can feel himself drift away from rational thought. He drags his tongue over the gland until Phil is shaking against him. It'll take only a little more to push Phil over. Clint grazes it with his teeth, just to see what it feels like. Phil jerks. The spasm around Clint's cock shoots sparks through him, his mouth closing over the bonding gland. He wrests himself away just as his teeth dig into skin, feeling muscle instead of swollen tissue. 

The bite triggers Phil nevertheless. He rocks against Clint as he comes, spilling across his stomach. Clint pushes his knot deeper into Phil as his own orgasm slams into him. But there's something missing. A niggling confusion lingers at the edge of his brain as he spills into Phil.

When Phil quiets, Clint unlocks his jaw. He didn't draw any blood, for which he's grateful. He soothes his tongue over the sore spot as Phil goes boneless against him.

“I'm sorry,” Clint whispers when the hormonal fog has lifted. He feels like he let his Omega down even though he also kept his promise. He tugs at the sheets and comforter, lifting both up around them to make sure they're warm while they're tied. Clint isn't sure what to make of Phil's silence, so he rubs his back in case he needs comforting.

When Phil hasn't responded after some time, but is also not asleep, Clint worries. “Are you okay?”

“I'm not sure.”

“Wanna tell me?”

“It's probably stupid.”

Clint brushes his lips over Phil's temple. “Tell me anyway.”

“I couldn't fall asleep earlier, and I was thinking about whether or not this might be the only heat I'll ever go through.” His voice softens. “If this is the only chance for us to bond.”

The possibility didn't occur to Clint. He assumed that Phil would go into heat regularly from now on, that they have time to think about a bond. But what if he doesn't? 

“I'd still want to be with you.” Clint is certain about that. “Bond or no bond.”

He can feel Phil smile. “Me too. But if this heat is really the result of how compatible we are, then—” He sighs. “I don't know. I don't know if this is just my hormones talking, but it feels like we shouldn't waste this chance.”

It's tempting, especially after coming so close to biting Phil. Clint wants to throw all caution to the wind, wants to tease Phil with his knot until he grows hard again and they have another shot at a bond. But he made a promise, and he doesn't intend to break it. Phil has never broken a promise he made to Clint. It's one of the reasons he learned to trust Phil with his life. 

“We'll have another chance.” Clint knows deep down that it's true. “If we're really this compatible as bond mates, and you're in heat now because of that, it's going to happen again.”

Phil props himself up on Clint's chest. He studies Clint and nods. “Next time.”

Clint traces the bonding gland with his fingertips. It's less pronounced already; Phil's heat has broken, then. “Next time.”

**

They sleep almost ten hours. Clint doesn't know when his knot loosened; he wakes up on his side with Phil curled around him. 

“Morning,” Phil says softly.

Clint rolls over until he's facing Phil. Their legs tangle, and Clint rests his hand on Phil's thigh. “Been awake long?”

“Not that long.”

Phil looks rested. He doesn't feel overly warm, either. “How d'you feel?”

“Better.” Phil smiles. “More like myself.”

“Good. I think the heat crested last night.”

Phil's smile widens. “Does that mean we're not going to fuck all day?”

“I wouldn't say that.” Clint squeezes the top of Phil's thigh and lets his fingers graze the curve of his ass. “We'll do what you need.”

“Hmm.” When Clint runs his palm up Phil's side and over his chest, he adds, “I assume it won't feel like this after the heat ends.”

Clint traces along Phil's collar bones. “What, sex?”

“No, just touching. You touching me.”

“Oh. It won't be the same, no.” Maybe if they bonded. “That's mostly the hormones doing their job.”

Phil's eyes close as Clint draws his thumb over his cheek. “Probably a good thing. It's not exactly compatible with higher brain function.”

Clint laughs. He's rather enjoying Phil like this, but he has to agree—when they're in the field together, they both need a hundred percent clarity to do their jobs. “You know that I'll still follow your orders next time we go on mission, right? Well, for the most part.”

“I'd assumed, yes. This is different, isn't it? Private. Just...us.”

Clint is glad that Phil's eyes are closed so that he won't see what must be a truly ridiculous grin. “Yeah. It is.”

**

When Clint suggests a shower, Phil agrees with enthusiasm.

It first occurs to Clint that this shower isn't only about getting clean when he starts to wash Phil everywhere, including the spaces between his fingers, behind his knees, under his chin. He takes care with Phil's more delicate places—his cock, between the cheeks of his ass (where Phil is still slick), and the coarse hair low on his stomach. When Clint gently rakes his fingers through it to get all the gunk out, Phil sighs.

“This isn't just showering together, I feel,” Phil says.

Clint lathers up his hands again and steps behind Phil. “Yeah. It's like...” He can't quite put it into words. 

“There's a rightness to it in the same way that it feels right for me to submit to you or to want your knot.”

Sliding his hands across Phil's shoulders, Clint digs his fingers into the muscles there. “Yeah. Same for me.” Phil's always been better with words. “I've never—I haven't done this before. With other Omegas.”

Phil glances over his shoulder. “You haven't? And here I thought you'd have an explanation for this.”

“Nope, this is new for me, too.” 

Phil ducks his head, but Clint catches his smile nevertheless. “Well, what do your instincts tell you?”

“To touch you. To keep you close.” It doesn't entirely capture what Clint feels, but it's the best he can do.

Phil hums and turns toward Clint. When he holds out his hand, Clint slips the soap into it. Phil starts with Clint's hand and works his way up his arm, taking the same care that he received. Clint begins to understand what Phil meant earlier when he asked about being touched. It's more than the simple pleasure of feeling Phil's hands on his skin. There's something soothing about it, as if nothing could go wrong as long as Phil is there.

A sense of completeness settles in Clint. Oh. Right. That's exactly what was missing earlier when coming in Phil didn't feel quite as it should have. When they didn't finish bonding.

“I think it's a bonding thing,” Clint muses.

“How so?”

“Well, you know how we came really close earlier, and I guess it was close enough to—to make us want to do this.” Clint wonders what it might feel like with a new bond driving them. “Or maybe it's a gentle reminder that we should have gone through with it.”

Phil's hand moves in long arcs over Clint's sides and chest. “There's most likely some research we could look up.”

“Or we could have some food. I'm starving.”

Phil pauses and looks up at Clint like he's had the best idea ever. “Yes. Let's do that.”

**

Pad Thai has never tasted that good, especially not at nine in the morning. They don't speak much as they eat, but Phil bumps his foot against Clint's every once in a while, sneaking his toes up the legs of Clint's pajama pants.

They both agree that a nap sounds good and that the couch is a nice change of scenery (besides, they need to run the washer again if they want clean sheets). Clint tucks the fleece blanket around them and falls asleep with his head on Phil's chest.

**

Clint doesn't sleep for very long. He isn't surprised that Phil is still soundly asleep. There's a lot going on in Phil's body. It's exhausting, and Phil needs all the rest he can get. Clint drifts as Phil sleeps, feeling warm and safe.

They don't speak once Phil wakes. Phil's hand pushes under Clint's T-shirt, fingers skimming over skin in mindless patterns. It's just comfort at first, but gains purpose. The need builds between them again, but with less urgency before. 

Clint shifts them until they're on their sides and seeks Phil's mouth, trading lazy kisses. Phil pushes closer, brings their hips into alignment. The slow drag of cloth over skin draws a soft moan out of Clint.

Phil smiles. “Feels good, doesn't it?” 

Clint grunts in affirmation. Words aren't a priority when he can mouth along Phil's neck.

“Know what the best part is?” Phil whispers. “I know that you'll fuck me and you'll tie me, but it's not this—this singular obsession anymore. We can take our time. Make it last.”

Clint's hand flexes against Phil's hip. “Not sure this makes me want to wait.” Quite the opposite. He tugs at Phil's shirt.

They struggle out of their clothes under the blanket, knees and elbows bumping. There's a chill in the living room and neither of them wants to expose more limbs to the cold air than necessary.

Phil ends up on his back under Clint; he doesn't seem to mind. “Here, like this.” Phil hitches up his knees to let Clint slide between his legs. He keeps one knee drawn up next to Clint's hip; the other stretches out, heel rubbing against Clint's calf.

Clint isn't entirely sure what Phil needs from him, but then a hand settles on the small of his back and Phil's hips press up against him, a challenging look in his eyes. Clint can work with that. They move together, languid and slow, Phil's hard cock nestled against his own. Phil kisses him, his tongue slipping into Clint's mouth.

Usually, Clint is good with drawing things out, but the slow slide of their bodies builds to the point where Clint's desperate to come, the tight ache in his cock nearly tipping from pleasurable to painful. But his body won't let him come until he's knotted Phil. “Can we—need to—”

“Yeah.” Phil's lips brush against Clint's mouth. “Sit up.”

Clint follows Phil's request, leaning against the back of the couch. Phil climbs into his lap and tucks the blanket around them. There's something wistful in his expression.

“What?” Clint asks. He draws his palm up Phil's thigh.

“Gonna miss this.” Phil squirms when Clint's thumb brushes against his balls.

“Um, we can still have sex after this heat is over.” That seems obvious to Clint, but perhaps it isn't to Phil. His fingers move lower, and he expects them to get covered in slick, but there's only a sheen of it. 

“It's not the—” Phil hisses when Clint's fingers rub across his hole.

Clint withdraws his hand. “Shit, sorry.” He should have known. Phil's heat is coming to an end, after all. 

“It's okay.” Judging by the twitch in his jaw, it's not, however.

“We don't have to.”

Phil lets out a huff. “We do. I'm definitely at that point again.”

Clint curls his palm over Phil's side. “Okay. I have something that's going to help. Just—one second.”

He nudges Phil off his lap and stands up so he can get the lube from the kitchen. When he comes back, Phil gives him a puzzled look. “You put that in the fridge?”

“It'll feel good. C'mere.”

Phil settles across Clint's thighs. He looks skeptical, but doesn't stop Clint from reaching between his legs with fingers that are coated in cool lube.

Clint studies Phil's face as he touches the tips of his fingers against Phil's hole. Phil jerks, but doesn't pull away. “Okay?”

Phil nods. 

Clint puts more pressure behind his touch, spreading the lube in small circles.

“Oh, that-that does feel good.” Phil takes hold of Clint's shoulders and shifts against Clint's fingers. “Thanks.”

“Glad it's working.” Clint squeezes more lube on his fingers. He nudges Phil's hole until it gives under the pressure, and pushes deeper when Phil mumbles encouragement. He turns his hand, thumb running along the rim.

Phil's breath stutters. “Keep going.”

Clint adds more lube even though they don't really need it. Inside, Phil's still plenty slick. He also feels hot, and Clint can imagine how good the cold lube must be in comparison. Phil's hand twists into Clint's hair, tugging absently. Clint eases three fingers in and out of Phil until the mix of lube and slick runs down his wrist. 

Clint slowly draws his fingers out. “Come a little closer?” He twists his palm over his cock.

Phil shuffles forward and lifts up. Clint breaches him easily, and there's no sign of discomfort from Phil. 

Clint lets his head drop against the back of the couch. How can it still feel like his? They've fucked so many times in the last two days that he'd have thought the magic would wear off. But as Phil settles into his lap with a shimmy of his hips, Clint swears he sees stars. 

A finger swipes across his brow. “Still with me?” Phil whispers.

“Yeah, I—” Clint was going to explain, maybe, but Phil starts moving, and the words are gone. 

He slings an arm low around Phil's waist to keep him close and braces his other hand on the couch for leverage. He still doesn't have much room to move, but pushes up into Phil with short, sharp thrusts. Clint's done with languor. Wants this hard and fast until they tie. 

Phil mumbles, “God, yes,” and wraps his arms around Clint's shoulders. He keeps pace with Clint at first, pushing down, but then lets Clint take over. His fingers dig into Clint's muscles as he whispers into his ear, _come on_ and _fuck yes_ and finally an endless stream of _don't stop_. Sweat runs down Clint's back and his thighs starts to cramp but he fucks into Phil until his knot fills.

Clint slumps into the cushions, trying to get air into his lungs. Phil nuzzles his cheek, reward and gratitude embedded in the small touches. They steady Clint, and he once again marvels at how the heat intensifies every little thing between them.

Neither of them move much as the knot builds, but when they're completely tied, Phil leans back, using his weight to press down firmly against Clint. He rolls his hips in a steady search for friction. It doesn't seem to be enough. Phil whines in frustration, and softly calls out Clint's name. Even though his muscles protest, Clint presses his knot deeper. He knows he's found the right spot when Phil tightens around him all of a sudden. It's probably his imagination, but he thinks he can feel his knot catch on that bump inside of Phil. He repeats the movement, expects it to tip Phil over the edge, but finds his own orgasm burning through him instead, quick and searing. 

Phil stills, bliss washing over his face. At the tail-end of Clint's orgasm, Phil starts to come in slow waves, thick pulses that make his cock twitch against Clint's stomach. Clint watches, mesmerized. 

As Phil comes down from his orgasm, his eyes are still glazed over. Clint rubs over Phil's stomach, too tired to fight his instincts. Phil's eyes come into focus and he smiles. Clint wonders if Phil knows what he's doing, but he doesn't ask; that's not a conversation he wants to have when his mind is muddled with both post-orgasm endorphins and heat hormones.

Maybe something shows on his face because Phil says, low and fond, “I don't mind. Go with it.”

“It's dumb.” Clint looks away.

“It's not,” Phil counters. “Feels right to me. Besides, you were the one who said that this is about making babies. Or trying to, at least.”

Clint's Alpha senses chant _yes_ while his brain wants him to run for the hills. It's uncomfortable and embarrassing and he wishes they weren't tied together because he can't turn fully away from Phil's gaze. He tries to tug his hand back, but Phil doesn't let him. He groans. Of course Phil would embrace even this aspect of the heat; he doesn't do things half-way, after all. 

“Clint.”

It's a soft but insistent call, and he glances at Phil.

“It's okay.” Phil presses Clint's hand against his skin.

Clint swipes his thumb back and forth, coarse hair scratchy against his fingertip. Phil nods, and Clint continues for the next few minutes until the urge fades.

Clint swallows, still oddly embarrassed. Phil kisses him, one hand against Clint's cheek. It's reassurance. Comfort. Clint falls into it and feels better afterward. Tugging the blanket more closely around them, he asks, “What does it feel like? To have my knot in you?”

There's no hesitation in Phil's reply. “Like belonging.” 

That's not the answer Clint expected, but it rings true.

“Is this the last time you're knotting me during this heat?”

“I don't know.” Clint waits to see if some intuitive knowledge bubbles up. It doesn't. He thinks Phil already feels looser around him, though. “Maybe.”

Phil nods. He strokes over Clint's nape and holds him close, and they stay connected like that for a while until Phil starts moving again, with a roll of his hips, pushing down. “Make me come again?” He guides Clint's hand toward his cock, which is just beginning to harden.

The question catches Clint by surprise. Even at the height of the heat, Phil didn't come twice on the same knot. It's want rather than need, Clint realizes. He wonders whether Phil's earlier worry motivates the request—the fear that they won't share another heat. 

Clint picks up the lube. It seems warm enough, but Clint rubs his fingers together anyway before curling them around Phil's cock. Phil watches as Clint strokes him to full hardness, slow and careful. If this is the last time they're tied, he wants to draw as much pleasure out of Phil as possible. “What do you like?”

“Head's sensitive.”

Clint thumbs over it, back and forth, catching precome as it beads out of the slit. Phil's breathing turns shallow. He rocks down on Clint's knot, and Clint thinks he might come again as well. When Clint's thumb slips, nail nocking into the divot under Phil's head, Phil cries out and jerks against him.

Clint's hasty “sorry” mixes with Phil's “again, do that again, oh fuck.” Teasing his nail over the same spot, Clint brushes his fingers up the length of Phil's cock. 

“Close,” Phil whispers, pushing down in helpless jitters.

It's sooner than Clint really intended, but he's almost there himself. He grasps Phil more firmly, the way he likes to work himself over when he's about to come—sure, fast strokes, with a hard swipe over the head at the end. 

Phil goes rigid, a stuttering moan ripping out of his throat as he spills over Clint's hand. The pressure on Clint's cock carries him over as well.

Phil laughs as he regains his breath. “These heat hormones are something else. That would never have happened otherwise.” He runs a hand through the rows of come that cross Clint's chest and stomach. “I know I'm going to pay for this once the heat wears off, but I don't care. At all.”

He sounds happy, and something flip-flops inside of Clint. He draws Phil close and finds the junction of neck and shoulder, licking at it. Clint knows that he's always going to want to do that to Phil, heat or not.

Phil hums with satisfaction. He winds a hand into Clint's hair, keeping him close.

**

Clint doesn't mean to fall asleep. He comes to on the couch, wrapped in the fleece blanket, acutely aware that Phil's warmth is missing from next to him. Drawing the blanket closer around him doesn't help with the sense of loss.

The heat is well and truly over, then. Phil wouldn't have gone off for any significant length of time otherwise. Clint picks up the sound of the shower running, or perhaps the washing machine, or both. Phil's up and about, getting on with life. The blanket still smells like the two of them, and Clint buries his nose in it. A headache's building, perhaps due to the drop-off in energy after a heat. For the past three days, Clint's body had zeroed in on Phil's needs; now that those are satisfied, his own needs push to the forefront.

It's easier to come off a heat by staying close, but Phil wouldn't know that, of course. Perhaps Phil didn't feel the need to remain by Clint's side.

Clint hasn't moved when Phil returns to the living room. He's dressed in actual clothes—jeans and a sweater—instead of pajamas or even sweatpants. It makes sense because it's Monday afternoon, and obviously Phil Coulson wouldn't lounge around at home in pajamas in the middle of the day. It pushes the sense of loss deeper.

Phil leans over the back of the couch. “Hey, sleepyhead.” His hand reaches down to brush through Clint's hair. 

Phil smells clean, with a hint of his own scent underneath. But he doesn't smell like Clint or like the two of them together. “You took a shower.”

“Plenty of warm water left if you want.”

Clint doesn't. Yet, he's also aware that he's naked under the blanket, dried come and slick and sweat all over him. He probably reeks. The couch is most likely ruined, too. Phil's looking at Clint with a hint of a frown. Before he can ask if anything's wrong, Clint says, “Yeah, okay.”

For perhaps the first time in his adult life, Clint feels awkward in his body as he walks past Phil. Not that Phil notices. Instead, he smiles at Clint. “Pick whatever you like from my closet if you don't want to wear your clothes from three days ago.”

Clint nods and hastens into the bathroom. He doesn't take long in the shower; he's in and out in only a few minutes. After staring into Phil's closet for a while, he picks a long-sleeved shirt that turns out to be a little tight on him, and pulls on his own jeans.

Phil's absent-mindedly wiping down the counter in the kitchen. Clint wants to wrap his arms around his waist and lean against him. But without the heat-driven instincts reassuring him that that's the right thing to do, that Phil would welcome his touch, he stops next to the fridge.

“Are you hungry?” Phil asks. “There's still curry left.”

“m not hungry.” 

Phil goes back to wiping the counter, which already looks spotless to Clint. Maybe he should leave. Phil might want some time alone, and it's not like he needs Clint close to him anymore. Yet, Clint can't bring himself to announce that he's heading out.

“Thank you,” Phil says, scrubbing at an unseen spot. “For spending the heat with me.”

“Sure, yeah.” Clint picks at the seam on his sleeve. “I'm glad I could help.”

Phil glances over his shoulder. “You did more than help.” His gaze returns to the counter. “I always thought...In a way I was glad that I didn't have to go through heats. Being driven to submit didn't sit well with me. But it wasn't what I expected.”

Clint waits for Phil to continue. But he doesn't. “What was it like?”

It takes two more sweeps across the counter before Phil answers. “There was this certainty about—about you. That you'd be there for me. I'd never—” He breaks off. “It was a very different experience from what I'd always imagined.”

Clint desperately wants to communicate to Phil that he can still be there from him, but he has no idea how to start.

Phil sets the sponge aside and turns around. “What now?” He looks a little lost. Or perhaps he's just tired. 

Clint swallows. “Heat's over. Usually—usually you sort of crash, afterward. After the hormones wash out of your system.”

“That's why I feel like I have a hangover.” Phil steps closer.

“Yeah.” Clint doesn't know what to do. Shifts from one foot to another. He can't bring himself to look at Phil.

“Is it—” Phil halts. “Do you normally not want to be close to your Omega after a heat?”

Clint's eyes snap up. “What?”

Phil's fingers drum against his leg. “I was wondering if that was normal. To keep your distance after a heat. Not you personally. In general. As an Alpha-Omega thing that I'm not aware of.”

“No.” Clint steps into Phil's personal space. “No, there's no thing like that. Or maybe there is, I don't know. But it's not a thing for me.” _Not for us, hopefully_. Maybe he's read this whole thing wrong. Has mistaken uncertainty for a purposeful distancing on Phil's part. There's neither the push of hormones nor previous experience to guide Phil, after all. 

Phil nods. “I couldn't tell. Earlier, when you woke up. You disappeared into the shower with impressive speed.” He keeps his hands by his sides in a way that seems natural and loose but Clint can tell is very deliberate. “This is much more difficult without instincts driving every move.”

“Doesn't have to be more difficult.” Clint leans closer and curls a hand over Phil's hip. There's about an inch of space between them and they're not exactly touching, but Clint can feel Phil's warmth. Something rights itself inside of him. “I'm sorry about earlier. I wasn't sure if you still wanted this.”

Phil turns his head. His nose brushes against Clint's jaw. “Why would you think that? Of course I still want this. You.”

Clint shuffles forward that last inch and wraps both arms around Phil. “You were gone. When I woke up.” He doesn't mean to say it, but the words spill forth without his permission.

Phil returns the embrace. “I didn't want to wake you. Should I have stayed? Is that something I should have known about?” 

“No, nothing like that.” He holds on to Phil for another moment before pulling back just far enough to see his face. The uncertainty there is plain. “But I've always liked to stay close together even after the heat's over. The drop-off in hormones can be a bitch for an Omega. Even for Alphas, it's not entirely easy.” It feels too much like an impersonal, clinical explanation. “I definitely felt it when I woke up. You didn't?”

“I thought it was probably the way it's supposed to be.” Phil's eyes dart away.

Apparently, Clint's Alpha senses haven't entirely quieted down yet. Even the hint that his mate might be in distress is unacceptable. Clint purposefully avoids thinking more closely about the idea of Phil as his mate. “It's not. You're not supposed to...” _Hurt. Feel alone._ He brings a hand up to Phil's face, thumb brushing over the crinkles in the corner of his eye.

Phil's eyes close for just a moment. “Will you stay?” 

Hope unfurls in Clint's chest. “Of course.”

“And next time? If there is—”

Clint cuts Phil off with a kiss. “There will be a next time.”

Phil draws in a breath. “And the bond?”

Clint nods. “If you want.”

Phil smiles. It's soft, barely there, but the joy of it fills his eyes. “I want.”

(end.)


End file.
